


Incandescent Inferno

by apex__predator



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Harry Potter, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Auror Harry Potter, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Clothed Sex, Clubbing, Damaged Vocal Chords, Deepthroating, Depressed Harry Potter, Facials, Fiendfyre (Harry Potter), Lonely Harry Potter, M/M, Magical Injury, Mild Blood, Permanent Injury, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Promiscuous Draco Malfoy, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Top Harry Potter, Voice Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apex__predator/pseuds/apex__predator
Summary: Potter's in that stall, I'm sure of it.  The moron's hyperventilating likehe'sthe one who just sucked dick.I breath out a wisp of draconic smoke and smirk as it swirls out into the humid air.I'm going to fuck Harry Potter six ways from Sunday."Enjoy the show?" He chokes on his breath and there's no doubt left in my mind.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 79





	1. #ffe808 / mace

**Author's Note:**

> Fiendfyre!Draco inspired by [in my ears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052198) from [M0stlyVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid).

Harry would never forget the sharp, roaring heat of a magical firestorm.

The dance floor had gone from annoying to oppressive. Harry doesn’t know whether it was the push of bodies from every direction or the garish red-orange strobe lights.

He was fully supportive of Hermione’s ardent work in muggle integration but strobe lights were better left in obscurity. But it seemed the wizarding youth disagreed and they’d had a staggering rise to popularity.

Maybe Harry was just getting too old for clubbing. That must be why every muscle in his body was tense, waiting for a body to slam into him or a flash of neon light to leave him doubled over in pain.

He pushed open the rotting wood door of the lavatory and expected relief to flood him. Instead, there was another kind of cold, heavy claustrophobia.

It was morosely fitting for him to feel equally crowded in a raging fire as a chilly, cramped closet. It seemed the wizarding world was too full with love for their saviour to spare any for Harry.

He stumbled into the only available stall and felt a vague twinge of satisfaction. Despite the size, it wasn’t cramped inside. It felt just right.

The lights and screams were muted and Harry could hear his own breathing. He leaned back into the rickety toilet. It was so beaten that he expected a moaning cry to rattle its pipes.

He doesn’t know which cry he’d meant. It was odd that he had more than one to associate with grisly bathroom accidents, three if he included the troll.

Despite his best efforts, Harry never managed to finish his final year at Hogwarts. McGonagall had owled him about condensed courses, but Harry and everyone at the Battle of Hogwarts had already been offered spots in the Auror trainee program.

Plus, he always felt an eerie heaviness when he walked into the castle. Even after the rebuilding, it felt like every corner of the building held invisible ghosts and piles of stone and rubble.

Usually memories of the war would make him break down into fits of anxious breathing, but he was too exhausted that night.

It was a habit he’d picked up after the war, something that never managed to be any less embarrassing. It was uncharacteristic; there’d been no time for panic during the war. That’s what got you killed.

But there was no war to fight anymore and it was easier to duel a Death Eater than his own conscience. It left his mind with ample time to go over everything in excruciating detail.

The only time Harry appreciated waking up to an empty bed was when he jolted upright in the pitch black darkness of midnight, soaked in sweat and panting with the imagined heat.

Harry hadn’t gone back to the dance-floor that night. He’d tumbled out of the window and stumbled far enough away from the privacy wards to apparate home.

He bundled himself up with a sigh and a flash of magic whisked him away to Grimmauld Place. He already dreaded the inevitable questioning he’d undergo the next morning.


	2. #ffce00 / nutmeg

The second time he’d ended up in that stall, it felt like compulsion.

The cinnamon in Neville’s cologne and the sriracha soaking into his chips mixed to create a pungent spiciness that almost rivalled the sharpness of fiendfyre. No matter how ridiculous the combination, it still dredged up memories of ashen blood coating hands and cheeks.

Harry had already accepted the consequences of being the Saviour. Even if that meant he could never again truly enjoy a good curry, or that he had to mumble excuses to his mates on his night out to flee for the toilets.

At least he thought he‘d accepted it until he locked the rickety metal latch. Then the infuriating anger at how unfair it all was struck him like a hammer.

It wasn’t even that he was alone, everyone had their own scars from the war. Ron had lost his brother for Merlin’s sake, and Hermione still paled when anybody mentioned Malfoy Manor. So why did it feel like he was the only one trapped in an inferno of memories?

Fuck, he couldn’t _breath_. His body shook with wet coughs and rattling gasps like he was still sprawled out on the castle tiles with a broom next to him, singed and smoking.

It was _ridiculous_. Absolutely ridiculous, complete meaningless panic. The fire was a thousand apparition points away, safely locked away in a dusty corner of Hogwarts.

The worst of it was the last year. Constant paranoia was common on the run and while Harry’s overactive survival instinct was great for duelling, it was much less helpful in an innocuous nightclub. He was pretty sure the most dangerous thing there was the amount of vinegar Dean drowned his chips in.

He doesn’t remember collapsing on the toilet, but he was sitting down when his vision cleared. For once, he didn’t mind not remembering, he could finally take a moment to breath. It was just him, the leaky pipes and the groaning sinks.

Maybe this was something that could be Harry’s and not the Saviour’s. A small piece of tangible wood and stone where he wouldn’t be judged for deaths he could have prevented. Sirius, Cedric, Fred, the list went on.

He knew it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t make their cold, dead eyes any less haunting.

No matter what it meant, Harry would take anything he’d get. Even if it felt wrong considering how much everyone else had lost at his expense.

A sound rattled from the adjacent stall, like a hand scrambling at the wall. Harry’s breath ceased completely and caught in his chest.

The other man was just as tense. The bathroom stayed pin drop silent until the man couldn’t hold in his cough anymore and dissolved into a fit of quiet wheezes.

The coughing was more akin to rasping and the man’s groan rumbled in Harry’s chest. Low and long, impossibly deep and just husky enough to send a jolt up Harry’s spine.

Harry broke out of his daze and shoved any errant thoughts to the back of his head. He really was being ridiculous. Plus, he’d ought to make his way back before Ron nicked a chip off of Dean’s plate.

Before he pulled open the door, Harry took a surreptitious glance under the stall at the mystery man. Staring back at him were jeans and leather platforms, displaying shock white skin that shone unbelievably bright even under the dull old bulbs.

Harry stared for a second too long. Then he turned around and shouldered into the heap of bodies.


	3. #ff9a00 / cinnamon

The third time, Harry told himself it was the familiarity.

Ron was busy with a tetchy Hermione well into her third trimester. Dean was on a stakeout and Neville was shacked up at the greenhouse for the foreseeable future.

Luna was similarly busy with whatever she constituted as research, and Ginny... well. Harry doesn’t remember the last time he’d even seen her, much less spoken to her.

But he still made his way to the bar, craving the anonymity that he could pretend to have in the dark wave of bodies.

It was times like this when Harry felt like he’d fallen behind. It’d been easy to forget during the war when everyday was a gamble on his life, but now he had all the time in the world.

He didn’t know when his plans for the future went from a wife and family to paperwork and stumbling home at 3 am, too drunk to even apparate.

So he slipped into the backroom and swore it was for the sake of comfort. There really was something soothing about the sound of leaking taps and gusts of wind rattling the half open window.

In fact, he made it all the way into the stall before even considering anything else. But comfort didn’t explain the heavy duty disillusionment charm, or how his eyes darted down to check for a glimpse of snow white ankle.

He wasn’t disappointed. It was the man from before, wearing jeans torn at the knees, kneeling and showing off a substantial amount of that same salivating ivory skin.

Except this time Harry was wholly distracted. Because not only was the man kneeling, there was another pair of legs far too close to be anything else than what it implied.

“ _Fuck_.” It sounded more like a gravelly mess of rasping than a word, but it was undeniably filthy and undoubtedly dangerous.

_Merlin’s beard._

The other man answered with his own deep hum of assent, but Harry’s mind still hadn’t caught up with the situation.

He could barely think with how strangely dizzy he was, but he could pick up the distinct tones of dryness in the man’s hoarse gasp. It was similar to the gruffness in Head Auror Shacklebolt’s voice, who Harry swore burned through a pack a day.

But the guttural nature of his voice was completely different than this man’s. To his frustration, Harry was unable to place the exact smoothness that underlied the traditional huskiness. Like the bitter notes of a smooth espresso accented with the depth of deep, rich caramel.

On second thought, that was probably utter bullshit because Harry couldn’t really focus on anything other than how much he wanted to be the one in that stall. That and the absolute shameless pleasure in the man’s moans, loud even under the sloppy sucking.

Then the man’s belt clattered to the floor along with his jeans and Harry just about passed out.

He knew he should’ve slammed open his stall door and walked out as fast as his legs could carry him the moment he saw a second pair of shoes. But the sliver of the man’s smooth thighs on display along with his increasingly desperate moans had Harry damn near charmed to the toilet seat.

Add in the sounds of his slick hand working over feverish flesh and his throaty gags and Harry was glowing with a deep flush he couldn’t pass off as firewhisky buzz.

He wondered whether the heavy grit in the man’s voice was a byproduct of his gagging, or if it was natural depth. Would that unique smokiness coat every syllable if his words were hushed and whispered instead of groaned and cut off?

Before Harry had a chance to work out the answers, a hedonistic moan echoed through the empty lavatory. Another followed soon after, but Harry barely even noticed. The echo bouncing off the stone walls was haunting.

The other man yanked up his zipper with professional detachment and slipped out of the door. Harry pressed one stiff palm down onto his erection and tried not to feel too guilty.

But then the man tugged up his jeans and clicked open his stall door.

“Enjoy the show?” He drawled through the partition. It was breathless and sultry, like a purr.

Harry choked. The man chuckled in that same deep tone and pushed out into the club.


	4. #ff5a00 / cayenne

There was no fourth time.

Harry refused to go back to the club, much to the chagrin of Ron and Dean.

He simply couldn’t step foot in the place and not remember. His recklessness would inevitably land him locked into that old cubicle, spending another night alone.

Except he _wouldn’t_ be alone. There would be someone else, sharing in the silent satisfaction. Harry had a vague idea that it might be part of why he’s fallen into a quiet sleep every night since, sated and finally rid of the incorrigible itch in his throat.

He knew he shouldn’t indulge those thoughts, especially during work hours. But he couldn’t help but wonder what everyone would think if they saw what was building inside of him.

What would happen when he finally snapped under the pressure?

“Harry. Mate. C’mon, snap out of it.” Ron snapped his fingers between Harry’s eyes. Harry refused to let this be the thing that broke his carefully crafted patience, even though Ron had just broken his coffee mug, _again_ , the third time that week.

“What time is it? Aren’t we off duty yet?” His career was another thing that Harry never really considered. It was all in his plan; become an auror, get married, have kids, defeat the world’s darkest wizard and still make it home on time for tea.

Except the majority of his days were spent signing off documents and writing up drinking and flying charges. Harry couldn’t blame Shacklebolt, he was certain that the entire ministry would be in uproar if he allowed their dear saviour to get hurt.

But that didn’t stop Harry from missing fieldwork. He hated the nervous tension building under his fingertips, he needed the rush of a duel.

He just hoped that sleep-hexing his hydrangeas off the nightstand would be the worst thing to happen, but hoping wasn’t enough to stop him from going to bed with one wrist handcuffed to his headboard.

“Harry! Seriously, what’s up with you lately?”

_‘Nothing, Ron! Just tired after a caffeine free day spent mastering the wandless reparo,’_ is what Harry would’ve said if he wasn’t clenching his teeth against some rather nasty additions.

“Anyway, you’ll never be able to guess who the new trainee picked up.” Harry was seriously contemplating throwing his empty mug at Ron’s head when the door to their office swung open.

The mug slipped from his fingers and broke on the floor with a resounding shatter.

“Well. Hello to you too, Potter.” Draco Malfoy snarked from the doorway in what was the most sinfully rich and husky voice Harry had ever heard.

Well, all but once...

“Fucking Merlin.” Harry choked out on a reedy breath and Malfoy chuckled like he wasn’t handcuffed and at the department’s mercy. At _Harry’s_ mercy.

“Hmm... not quite.” Harry laughed, stunted and strained. Fuck. _Fuck_. He really fucked up royally this time.

Harry’s head snapped to Ron, wondering how much he knew. Ron’s jaw was set stiffly and he could clearly sense the tension in the air.

“Either every auror is completely incompetent or it’s just the Saviour that’s exempt from basic stealth training. I’m pretty sure I could cast a stronger disillusionment charm with a twig.” Malfoy sniped in his posh accent, except it wasn’t high and grating like Harry remembered. It was quiet and deep, overlaid with that delicious TV static crackling.

“Oi! You better watch your mouth Malfoy. You’re in our custody now.” Malfoy’s face soured into a burnt, bitter sneer. Harry felt a familiar anger bubble to the surface. _Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy_.

“I suggest you stop talking Weasley, for the sake of us all. You are, as usual, out of your depth—“

“Out.” Harry didn’t know his voice was capable of sounding so stony, but it was certainly a day for firsts. Malfoy rolled his eyes at the whole affair, looking awfully pretentious for someone who had their hands tied behind their back.

“I don’t know what I expected Malfoy. You’re just as sleazy and conceited—“

“Ron, get out.” Ron fumed up to argue and Malfoy slipped back into his signature shit eating grin. Harry nearly lunged at him right then and there.

“But he needs to be processed—“

“I’ll do it! Everyone out. Now!” The trainee who’d been shaking in his boots finally broke, startling like a pigeon as he fled from the room.

Harry shooed Ron from their shared desk and Malfoy watched with silent amusement. Then Harry slammed him against the desk with one fast movement and the sneer quickly dropped off his face.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at Malfoy, but I’m not entertaining it.” Harry thought he saw a flash of fear in Malfoy’s eyes at the deathly quiet hiss.

“I am an auror. I have taken a professional oath to uphold the law, and I will not have you worming your way into the station to _insult_ my coworkers—“

“An auror who hides from bright lights and climbs out of bathroom windows. How impressive.” This time Harry really did punch Malfoy. His fist crunched into Malfoy’s jaw in a heavy underhand and it felt fucking marvellous.

“M-my my Auror Potter! Using brute force against an innocent civilian. Whatever happened to upholding the law?” For his part, Malfoy barely stumbled before laughing and leaning back against the table. His hands were still handcuffed behind his back but he’d changed his height and presence into something absurdly confident.

Harry was very much aware of how stupid and unethical this was, not to mention _illegal_ , but Malfoy was still brandishing that demoralizing smirk.

It reminded Harry of their physical fights during their first year, when their most advanced spells had been _aguamenti_ and _lumos_. Before dark marks and _Sectumsempra_ and winding fiery beasts hot enough to set a castle on fire.

He pulled Malfoy in close. To do what, he didn’t know. But before he could speak, Malfoy hissed out in a judgmental, sibilant tone.

“You like this, don’t you Potter? Hearing my voice like this, all fucked up?” Malfoy’s dropped his pitch again, slurring out his words in a way that made him sound like sex on legs.

Harry put one foot forward, crowding into Malfoy’s air. It was impossible for him to describe what that tone did to him. The depth and huskiness combined with that slight touch of warmth, how Malfoy’s voice crackled and strained on certain words, as if he was breathless with the effort of speaking.

How similar his deep tone sounded to the grainy desperate scratch his voice had after he’d sucked cock.

“Do you know why it sounds like this, Potter?” Malfoy was uncomfortably close now. Despite being taller, his knees buckled as he was pushed into the desk.

“How long were you in that fiendfyre?” Harry froze and the pieces finally clicked together.

“A few minutes? And how did you feel after?” He knew what Malfoy meant. He hadn’t noticed with the adrenaline, but he’d spent days after the war hacking up blood and ash. The soot clung to his throat and burned like capsaicin.

“Do you know what happens when you breathe in ash from an eternal flame? My lungs are covered in that filth. My voice box was ripped apart by the smoke, whatever the healers managed to salvage is far from flawless.” Harry could hear it now. Malfoy’s voice crackled on certain syllables as if his vocal chords grated against themselves to produce the sound.

Harry felt a new sort of flame lighting in his chest as he boxed Malfoy into the desk.

He knew he should feel bad about Malfoy’s situation, or at least about how much he enjoyed listening to his strained sentences. But there was something undeniably _alive _about him.__

__When Malfoy spoke, he _breathed_ fiendfyre. Harry felt a wave of terror flood through him, but it was joined by an equal wave of excitement. Malfoy had wisps of the deadly flame trapped in his chest and they curled from his lips with every scathing remark._ _

__Harry jerked back one tight fistful of blond hair and groaned at the wash of hot air that blew across his lips. It was scented with stale cinnamon and muted heat. Harry wondered whether Malfoy could taste it too._ _

__“It’s inside of you too, isn’t it Potter?”_ _

__Malfoy crowded closer, close enough for Harry to feel the barest brush of his lips. Harry’s chest burned with the ache of containing himself. Malfoy smelt like char and fresh soap and Harry swore the heat should’ve eaten him alive._ _

__“It’s there, deep in the back of your throat. _The fire_.” Malfoy’s eyes bore into him as if he could see right through._ _

__And then he was backing off._ _

__Harry stood shaking as Draco slipped out from under him and dropped a pair of unlocked handcuffs onto the table._ _

__“What charms do auror issue handcuffs use, _alohomora_?” Harry scrambled for a response and Malfoy quickly shushed him._ _

__“Don’t hurt your poor little brain worrying about it Potter, it was just a minor portkey misdemeanour. Really, there wasn’t even any reason to detain me.” Harry couldn’t find the time to be angry about Malfoy abusing the justice system for his own benefit because the blond was waltzing out the door._ _

__Ron and Dean marched in minutes later, arguing hotly about letting Malfoy walk away scotch free. Harry barely contributed. He couldn’t contain the frustration that‘d built in his chest and crept up his throat._ _

__If Harry had been worried before, he was downright terrified now. The thing that lived in his chest felt like a beast of pure fire, cannibalizing through his flesh like rot._ _

__It burned through his ribs, coating his throat with grime and dusting his lungs in ash. Is this how Malfoy had felt inside of that firestorm, cornered by a nightmarishly colossal stampede of flames?_ _

__Harry could still smell fiendfyre and defiance in the air. He wondered how far he could go before he burnt them both to ashes. They’d certainly make a good pair, neither of them could outrun the mistakes of their past._ _

__Harry stormed past his desk on his way out and his repaired mug shattered on the floor with a resounding crash. Nobody asked any questions._ _


	5. #ff0000 / saffron

There was, of course, a fourth time.

Harry held out for a week. Then a month. Then two months.

Then Hermione had the baby. Dean and Seamus went away on their honeymoon. Neville was busy with exam season grading and Luna flew overseas to the North Americas to study New World magical creatures.

Ginny was ignoring Harry’s floo call, owl mail and even his patronus charms. After a long day at the Burrow helping Hermione and Ron while narrowly avoiding sympathetic stares from Mrs. Weasley, Harry was at his limit.

The thing inside of him was growing.

It was tired of routine, of paperwork and drinking alone. It made him irritable and snappish.

But not dangerous. Not yet.

It didn’t matter how many times he re-potted his hydrangeas, or how many hopeless letters he sent to Ginny. For once in his life, Harry was tired of being the Saviour.

This time, Harry didn’t pretend he was there for anything else. After a brief stint at the bar he shouldered his way into the bathroom.

The routine they’d built was teasingly familiar. Harry let out the breath he’d been holding when he saw those familiar legs. _Kneeling_.

The same sight that had filled Harry’s dreams had him seething now. He’d told himself he wasn’t jealous, that Malfoy could sleep with whoever the hell he wanted. But the fire suddenly flared until Harry swore he could feel the heat in his fingers.

Harry threw the stall door open and froze.

Malfoy was in fact kneeling, but it was over the toilet. His eyes were lined with a soft eyeliner, smudged around the edges by pools of tears.

His lips and palms were coated with viscous dull blood, tinted grey.

“Mmm... Potter.” Harry took in the ruffled shirt and ripped jeans, though he wasn’t sure whether those could even be called ripped jeans with how little jean they had.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure?” Malfoy looked like shit. His shirt was slipping off his shoulder, a far cry from the immaculate suit and robes he wore on the regular.

Did he go out like this every night, in the hopes that Harry would show up? Or did he finish every night with a different man? Whisper with the same sultry tone in their ears?

Malfoy suddenly broke down into a round of hacking coughs and his head jolted to shove against the lip of the toilet. Harry grimaced at the scrape of nails across ceramic when Malfoy let out one last dreadful wretch.

He pulled his head up and his hair flopped over his glistening forehead in a sweaty mess.

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it? This is all that’s left of me.” If the silencing charm on the bathroom wasn’t so strong, Harry wouldn’t have heard his rasping voice. Malfoy avoided his eyes and smiled in resignation at the cracked tiles.

“We all paid a price to keep living, Malfoy.” Harry wished he could show Malfoy how much of himself he’d given. Malfoy’s face dropped and he rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. He’d clearly had a bit too much to drink.

“I lost people too, Potter. Crabbe had every right to resent me and I’ll never be able to correct that.” Harry was reminded of the wide eyed terror on Malfoy’s face when he stared back at the roaring flames, entire body shaking with the inexplicable despair of losing a human life.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Malfoy rolled his eyes lazily as if that was common sense.

“I know. But it wasn’t yours either.” Malfoy stared up at Harry, draped over the toilet with his cheek pressed against the seat. His eyes slipped to half moons and his lips slipped into a predatory smirk. Harry felt hot under his collar.

When Malfoy looked away to drawl his words, Harry could feel something change in the air.

“It must be hard, huh Potter? Playing Saviour all the time.” Malfoy spat a bloody mess into the toilet and trembled when he pulled himself up onto his feet.

“But you aren’t really like that, are you? You do a marvellous job of hiding it, but you’re just as fucked up as me.” Malfoy’s voice wasn’t nearly as deep and richly crackling as it‘d been before, but Harry liked the way his words broke, the ravaged way he sounded when pushed to his limit and then beyond.

Malfoy still moved smoothly despite the heaviness of his breathing. His arms wrapped around Harry’s shoulders, bringing them as close as possible.

Even with Malfoy’s slight height, he seemed frailer and weaker. Harry dropped his hands to Malfoy’s waist and held him with light fingers like he was something dangerous.

“Always playing the selfless hero. Aren’t you tired of feeling empty?” The air fizzled in his lungs and the intimacy burned itself into Harry’s skin. Malfoy’s breath was almost unbearable at this distance. It smelt like burnt skin and capsaicin and made Harry feel sick.

Malfoy had a firestorm trapped in his lungs and each whispered question threatened to set Harry ablaze. He kissed a soft mark into Harry’s chin, scratchy with stubble. Harry’s breath caught at the heat that radiated from Malfoy tenfold.

To his surprise, the thing in Harry’s chest was only growing. And at every filthy lick and swipe from Malfoy it blossomed into something raw and uncontrollable.

Malfoy pulled back to keep talking but froze at the set of Harry’s jaw, strained and pleading. He drifted one hand to Harry’s cheek as if really looking at him for the first time.

“You... you really don't know how to let go, do you?” Malfoy’s voice was so broken and quiet that Harry was certain that he wasn’t supposed to hear. But then he was being pushed back against the sinks and it was all ash and cinnamon and bitter, iron-tinged blood.

“Fuck, you always made me so mad.” Malfoy kissed like he fought. Dirty. His tongue slipped into Harry’s mouth to run over his teeth.

“You can’t fool me. I _know_ you.” The words seemed more of a threat than a reassurance.

Harry didn’t know where Malfoy learnt to talk like that, the Malfoy he knew was icy and snide, hiding behind a cowardly shell. This man was all radiant heat and razor sharp remarks. It was as if the unquenchable flames had lit a spark inside of him. 

It was exhilarating and staggering and fucking _terrifying_.

“For Salazar’s sake Potter, take it all. For once in your life, let yourself be greedy.” Malfoy wasted no time in bringing their hips together to rub in a slow grind.

How the fuck was Malfoy still talking?

“You might be an altruistic idiot but don’t think for a second that I am too. You’re freezing and I have enough fire to _burn you alive_.” Harry didn’t doubt it.

They stumbled into Harry’s stall and Malfoy’s bare knees hit the floor. The dingy lights threw a dull filter over everything but Harry was still certain that nothing could compare to the sight of Draco Malfoy on his knees. His eyes were hooded and sultry and his tongue snuck between his teeth to swipe over his thin lips.

Malfoy’s deathly skinny fingers pulled at Harry’s belt and slipped into his pants. He huffed a cloud of spicy heat over the head of Harry’s prick and Harry couldn’t stop his whine of discomfort.

“Hmm... don’t forget to breathe.” And then Malfoy’s tongue was pressed flat against Harry’s cock. He dragged it up the length, following an obscene vein bulging at the side.

The first thing Harry noticed was how weirdly dry Malfoy’s tongue was. The second, immediately after, was the _heat_.

Harry tangled his fingers in Malfoy’s wild blond hair and a pair of cold, grey eyes glanced up at him in a challenge. Malfoy’s soft lips sucked at the flared tip and Harry slammed his hips forward, slipping the shaft of his cock past Malfoy’s lips.

Harry was greeted by a wet warmth so hot that his knees buckled. The back of Malfoy’s throat was hotter than hell and sinfully slick, as if his saliva was too thick to make it past his throat.

Malfoy fell limp and his loose body almost melted against the stall door. Harry slammed past his lips. His gags were few and far in between and muffled to near silence.

A dark part of Harry’s mind screamed about Malfoy’s lack of movement, a sickening memory entered his mind of him laying cold and limp. In a frenzy of emotion, Harry wound his fingers into Malfoy’s hair and tilted his head back to press in deeper.

“ _Gag_. Fucking gag on it Malfoy.” Harry didn’t recognize his own voice with the ruthless undertone. Malfoy tightened his throat with a choke, finally surrendering to the brute force of Harry’s prick working open his throat.

At this angle, Harry could feel the jagged edges of healed wounds. A myriad of rough patches and burnt flesh that made Malfoy’s breath catch when he rubbed against them.

One weak hand clutched at his hip and Harry snapped back from his craze. He looked down to see Malfoy’s hooded eyes waver as his fingers led Harry’s hips into a new pace of fast, grinding snaps.

The thin black rimming Malfoy’s eyes had smudged into a wet mess and the painful stretch of the skin at his throat looked beyond depraved. Harry couldn’t have imagined the image if he tried, but he found that slutty was a good look on Malfoy.

Malfoy’s fingers scrambled to anchor himself to Harry’s legs as Harry broke the rhythm. Harry crushed his chin in a sadistic frenzy, squeezing his cheeks until he was slobbering.

“I want to hear you.” Harry’s voice came out strained and pleading, but Malfoy didn’t think twice before letting out a long chain of wet, harsh gurgles.

His vocal chords vibrated against Harry’s palm through his skin. Harry could feel all the scorching heat passing through his flesh, a radiating warmth that climbed up his throat like dragon’s breath.

“Wank yourself.” Malfoy groaned as if it was the greatest idea in the world and his free hand scrambled to yank off his buttons.

Harry heard the rip of soft denim and Malfoy was tilting his head up to stare up at him. His eyes were dangerously clear despite the tear tracks trailing down his cheeks and when they locked with Harry’s everything collided into a tidal wave of warmth.

Doubling over Malfoy’s head, Harry managed two pathetic thrusts before the heat became too much.

He stumbled back to slather Malfoy’s lips in the fluid, a few shots catching on his eyelashes and cheek.

“You bastard! Whatever happened to— common decency?” Merlin, the innuendo in Malfoy’s scratchy throat made Harry feel particularly territorial.

Malfoy still had one hand around his prick and he startled when Harry crashed onto the floor in front of him. The cubicle was far too small to accommodate both of them, but it left plenty of opportunity for Harry to press himself up against Malfoy.

“I think you like it too.” Harry felt a dangerous wave of post orgasm bravery push him forward as he knocked their foreheads together, licking across Malfoy’s lips.

“I think you need this as much as I do, Malfoy.” The answering whine was chipped and scratchy, chins banging as Malfoy pushed forward. Ash laced with cinnamon and metallic blood was overtaken by the taste of salty cum and Harry licked into Malfoy’s mouth, tasting himself on his tongue.

Malfoy’s frantic motions had the tip of his prick skimming Harry’s button up. His hand smacked against Harry’s stomach and with one strategically placed thrust he spilt over his knuckles.

“Salazar— you’re— fuck, _Potter_.” Malfoy’s shaking fist pushed at Harry’s chest half-heartedly. His head dropped to Harry’s chest and his shoulders shook as he wrung himself out onto Harry’s shirt.

Harry only pulled away when Malfoy was writhing with overstimulation and nipping aggressively at his lips in retaliation.

“You’re— you’re a fucking prick.” Malfoy coughed out in what was more of a laugh than a reprimand, sprawling back on his ass onto the dirty floor.

Harry did the same, giddy from a good orgasm and decent company. He grimaced at the cold, sticky liquid soaking into his shirt.

“Common decency, you were saying?” Malfoy head lolled up from where he’d leaned back, looking thoroughly fucked out. Harry was a little bit proud.

“Well... you wouldn’t let me go.” Malfoy’s eyes were dark and fierce. Harry went a bit crazy for a second.

“I never want to let you go.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but Malfoy didn’t freeze up. He stared into Harry’s eyes and smirked like he’d just caught the snitch.

“Then don’t.” The stall door creaked open and Malfoy spared him one small smile before heading out into the flashing lights.

Harry collapsed against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest.

To Harry’s relief, there was a fifth time. And a sixth, and a seventh.

Each time, the hollow in his chest overflowed with that blazing fire. But Malfoy never seemed to shrink back, burning just as brightly.

With his front pressed against Malfoy’s back, he lets the heat spill from his mouth and blanket their bodies like a serpent of flames. Strobe lights were a pale comparison to the inferno that Harry could create with his appetite for Malfoy.

He knew he had finally won. Malfoy was the one thing that the Saviour would never have, because the only one who could handle his heat was Harry.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments are always greatly appreciated! A simple kudos also means a lot <3


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